Abilene Zoo in Texas is the only zoo in its region. It experiences incredible market penetration, but is still a small, municipal parks department zoo—20 acres and 250k visitors. With potential land to grow and new adjacent attractions opening soon, the zoo is poised to grow into a large facility.

Frank Buck Zoo is a small zoo in a small town. Although today the zoo is experiencing a massive market penetration, the zoo’s lack of identity and differentiation means future success is dependent on creating strong repeatable experiences for it’s local / regional resident visitors.

The Caldwell Zoo in Tyler, Texas is a large ‘small’ zoo located in a small town. Drawing 250,000 in annual attendance from a drive time of about 1.5 hours, the family zoo is a great example of the best of small zoos—lovingly and thoughtfully designed using a blend of modern, innovative zoo design techniques with clean, timeless designs and light touches of theming set in a lush landscape with water features. A timeless, beautiful zoo borne from love—and a desire to be a community asset.

The 20-acre private zoo tucked into the hillside on the outskirts of growing Austin, Texas metro has plenty of challenges to tackle, but the beauty of the site and its proximity to Austin (and being the only zoo within an easy drive of the city) means the Zoo has almost unlimited untapped potential to become very successful—and a “weird” little gemstone to the community.

I hear it around the office all the time...I wish I could draw like so and so. That so and so is one of the, eh-hem, old-school architects, from the days when being an architect meant being an artist as well.
I think back to design school and our one, frankly, wimpy drawing class...entitled "Graphics for Landscape Architecture" or some such art-opposing title. We spent hours sitting outside, trying pitifully to draw natural trees and shrubs in a lifelike manner. Then, weeks were spent summarizing the real trees and shrubs into miniature symbols for use on plans and sections. Creativity was encouraged, but drawings skills were not incubated; and in my case, drawing skills were left unborn.

Perhaps in an argument to convince us that all of this was alright, we were told repeatedly, you'll never draw in the real world anyway. Just learn Photoshop and AutoCad, because that's all you'll ever use. So hours and hours and hours, and months and months and months, project after project were produced using Photoshop, and in advanced cases, AutoCad. I drew quite pathetically, but I drew, and incorporated those drawings into larger Photoshop creations. I may not have been complimented on my drawing skills, but I was ALWAYS complimented on my graphic design skills.

Fast forward to today... the last few weeks have been spent bent over the drawing board. Literally. A real, live drawing board. Even has a Mayline (or generic equivalent parallel rule). In school, I searched for a Mayline for my drafting table, and was told repeatedly by art suppliers and office suppliers that no one's making these anymore. Everyone uses AutoCad.

This is typical for me. My company doesn't really have titles and specific roles, like "You're a designer, and you're a drafter." Everyone sort of does everything, but I tend to be more of a concept designer. I've never designed on AutoCad. The only time I even touch AutoCad is when I'm producing construction documents, or to print a base file to draw on.

What's more interesting is most of our drawings we send out for concepts and masterplans are hand drawn. Color is added through Photoshop, sometimes with markers. I've had more drawings placed in front of clients drawn by hand than by AutoCad. Luckily, I've learned to draw. On the job training, I guess.

All that unofficial training in graphic design has gone untouched in the real world. I've never done a graphic layout for a presentation here. Maybe our office is different, but I suspect not. We have actual graphic designers to do any layouts.

But, I am drawing. By hand. With pencils and pens. I'm no Old School Architect, but that doesn't matter.

The moral of the story...design will never leave paper and pens behind. There is something immersive about the tactile process of pulling out the tracing paper and drawing and tracing and scratching out mistakes. There's nothing better than the surprisingingly, loud, and distracting crackle of a crumpling trace paper ball (although, now I carefully fold my scraps into tight little rectangles to fit into my recycle bin).

If someone tries to tell you that you don't need to know how to draw as a designer, just nod and smile, and go back to your sketch book.